


Whatever Remains

by Leyenn



Series: Dreams of Honest Horn [8]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crew as Family, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e06: Lonely Among Us, F/M, Imzadi, Science Explains Them Being Soulmates, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, oh my god so canon compliant it's insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: Lonely Among Us.Whatever remains when you strip away everything else must be the truth, and the truth is the bonds between them all.





	Whatever Remains

"It's been a long time since I've seen you in that."

Will grunts under his breath, tugging at the edge of the dress uniform, trying to get it level at his knees without choking himself looking down. Deanna laughs softly and stands up from his couch, reaching toward him.

"Stand still." She reaches up to his collar and tips his chin up with one hand. "How did you ever manage to get yourself into this without me?"

"Badly." He puts his hands behind his back to keep from either putting them on her or continuing to make himself look any worse. He wonders, yet again, how anyone is supposed to manage a dress uniform that's both comfortable and passes inspection, without the formalwear experience of a Daughter of Betazed on hand to help.

"Well, you still make it look good." She smooths a hand carefully along the braid that runs from his neck all the way to his shoulder, pressing out the stubborn kink he's been struggling with in the mirror. "I think I prefer this color on you, too."

He flashes her a playful smile to match her tone. "Oh?"

"It's very you." Her hands move down his chest: maybe a little slower and more lingering than they need to be, just to smooth out his uniform, but he's not going to complain. "It's not quite the same, of course, but it does remind me of how you feel,"  _in here,_  and a gentle vibration sings somewhere deep and primal in the bond between them, where that blue-purple-gold-warm-silk sense of her lives inside his head.

"That's a neat coincidence." He smiles. "Maybe I'll stick with it, then."

Deanna smiles back and tugs the last edge of his tunic straight. "There. Much better." 

He grabs her hand as she stands up, presses a kiss to the back of her fingers. "Thank you."

Deanna's eyes sparkle mischievously. "My pleasure."

*

She thought this was just going to be a simple mission, expected just the tension of two warring sets of diplomats - nothing she hasn't experienced most of her life, even if the Selay and Anticans take it to extremes - and a fast journey to Parliament with the chance to catch up on some less urgent projects during the trip.

Really, what she should have expected is the unexpected.

Worf is lying on the main biobed when she walks into Sickbay, Ensign Georgiou running a hand probe over his chest as Beverly looks intently at the tricorder in her hand. Deanna takes a glance at the readings on the main screen. His heart is steady, but the beat is regular - too regular, like a metronome ticking out time. She looks at the cortical readout and it looks strange, too, brain activity far different than she'd expect to see. 

When she turns and concentrates on him…

He's the first Klingon she's really known and his mind is incredibly distinctive - dark grey and blood-red with the texture of rough granite, forthright and honest and unyielding, but always heat bubbling below the surface. His feelings run hot but they've always been clear and focused, yet looking at him now makes her feel like she's seeing double - as if something like indecision has actually divided his mind in two, both acting as one but still one overlaid on the other. 

He's too quiet, too, for Worf: no grumbling, no struggling, no complaints that he's fine or demands to be released back to duty. He's watching the room - she can feel his curiosity, his odd calm, but something else beneath… 

His eyes land on her and that curiosity rises, but not in the hard jab she's come to anticipate from his emotions; rather it's slow and smooth, like the rise of an ocean wave. 

Beverly lowers the tricorder and nods at Georgiou, then smiles down at Worf, that reassuring smile of physicians the galaxy over.

"I'm going to give you something to help you rest now," and Deanna watches him look at her, but his expression doesn't even change as she presses a hypospray against his neck, even in the moment before his eyes close and his head lolls to the side. 

Beverly turns as she lays the hypo back on the cart, and her smile falls away into a concerned frown. "Hi, Deanna."  

She rests a hand on the clamshell of the biobed, studying Worf's face in unconsciousness. "How is he?"

"I've run a whole battery of tests, there's nothing physically wrong with him. And yet," Beverly gestures helplessly at the readouts. "How about you? Can you sense anything?"

She tries to put that odd double vision feeling into words, but she's not sure she can. "He's curious… as if he doesn't know what's happening. Very calm, especially for Worf." She frowns, playing that other feeling over in her head. "Almost… it's the wrong word, but…" If she were talking to Will she'd say  _kelémn_  - a quiet, childlike distress, like being left alone somewhere safe but dark -and he'd understand, but Standard only comes close with, "frightened."

Beverly blinks. "Worf? Frightened?"

She shakes her head. "It doesn't make much sense, but it's there. Or it was. He's just calm, now."

"I'll keep him under while I run some more advanced tests." Beverly's concern is a tight knot in the center of her emotions, pulling everything else taut. "Would you drop by again in an hour? I'd like you here when he wakes up. If nothing shows up on the next set of specimens, I may have to tag you in."

She nods, smiles reassuringly, says, "Of course," and tries not to imagine she might have to treat a bridge officer for a mental breakdown less than six months into their mission.  

*

So unlike Worf's, Beverly's mind is usually vibrant but calm; supple and cool to the touch, green-hued, the texture of sun-warmed stone. They've become close as colleagues, even starting to be friends; Deanna would easily admit that she enjoys Beverly's company as much for the way her mind feels as for her stubborn professionalism on duty, or the warmth of her personality in even the relatively few off hours they've spent together. 

And yet just for a moment when she steps back into Sickbay - a little early, unable to stifle her worry any longer - there's something… off, about how Beverly feels. There's nothing different she can place: in fact, just like with Worf, it's too perfectly the same as ever. She looks at Worf and it's even stranger: he's back into focus and it's Beverly who seems fuzzy to her senses now. It's as if she's talking to herself, but still - that's still not  _quite_  it -

Then Beverly just walks out of sickbay without a word and the near-understanding she's so close to slips out of her grasp. If she just knew these people better already... or perhaps she just needs to center herself for a while. These are the times she wishes for another Betazoid on board.

*

Deanna doesn't pretend to have kept even her basic engineering skills up to date since leaving the Academy, but it doesn't take a degree in starship design to be concerned about the litany of problems that seem to suddenly be besetting them. She feels a little kinship with the  _Enterprise_ right now, if she's truthful.

Even after a short check in on the bridge, she's still not convinced that there isn't something slightly wrong with her senses. She hates postponing appointments, but much as her daily work has to go on even with the ship breaking down around them, she'd rather not try counselling anyone with her focus so off. 

At least her schedule for the afternoon is short: a regular check-up with Ensign Hayes to review her depression treatments, and an informal meeting with an Andorian couple from astrophysics to discuss their potentially bringing a third aboard as family, both of which can easily be rescheduled for another day. 

She takes a PADD to Ten Forward, finding a quiet table where the white noise of relaxed minds can lull her senses a little, and sits down to review her calendar instead. They're all settling into this assignment now, so there are a dozen or so of those informal meetings coming up, since a large proportion of the crew - larger than usual, with the size and civilian complement of the  _Enterprise -_ will be eligible to bring new family aboard ship in a few months' time. She's likely to be going through the process for a while and she's lost in thought on that, absently plexing behind her left ear, when Will sits down in the opposite chair. 

It isn't that she doesn't feel him: just that her sense of him is so constant and subconscious again that sometimes she doesn't notice he's right there, in the same way she sometimes taps her fingers for minutes before realising she's doing it. It's only when he gives her the lightest mental nudge, and his emotions snap into the forefront of her mind - affectionate amusement over a tired, generalised frustration - that she looks up. His smile has a definite edge of that tiredness she can sense, but it brightens a little when she smiles in return, gently drawing the affection from that mix of feeling and focusing it back at him.

"Hi." She puts her PADD down on the table. "How are the diplomatic efforts?"

He winces, sharp and slightly angry. "I'll consider them a success if we make it to Parliament with all of them still whole. All they want to do is kill each other." He leans back heavily in his chair. "Frankly I'm not sure I wouldn't let them get on with it. I've got more pressing things to worry about right now." 

His worry is palpable. She touches the hard patch of it, trying to smooth it down with mental fingertips. "I'm sure you'll-"

The sudden, tight burst of relief is so focused on her that she blinks and turns away from him to look for the source - and finds it in Beverly, striding fast across the lounge to their table, her mind a mess of anxiety and confusion.

"Beverly?" She frowns, reaching for that tangle of emotion. "What's wrong?"

 

*

Hypnosis has been on the curriculum at the University of Betazed for centuries. The relaxation it often provides to a subject can help tremendously within a telepathic healing link, and anyone graduating the Starfleet Counselling Corps is required to study the basics. Deanna took extra classes and scored the highest marks, even beyond what she needed to graduate, when she found her high empathy rating lends itself so well to a treatment method that focuses so much on the subconscious; it doesn't matter that she can't speak words into her patient's mind, when feeling is enough to guide them through.

She does wonder, though, if anyone has ever tried to hypnotise a Klingon before.

"Take a seat." She gestures toward the chair placed in the middle of sickbay. Worf eyes her warily. She tries to keep her smile all reassurance and not let any amusement show, even though the idea that she can frighten a Klingon warrior makes her want to laugh.

He sits ramrod straight, watching her as if she's going to bring out a bat'leth at any moment. She projects calm, quiet, subtle waves of it, even though she's not sure how well the Klingon mind will react to active empathy. At least Beverly - apprehensive but covering it well, with a false-brave smile - stands a little easier, shoulders loosening as she watches them start.

It's actually surprisingly easy to guide Worf's mind under; she's pleasantly surprised, even a little humbled to realise that as uneasy as he is, he has a professional trust in her that overrides his personal feelings. It's a sudden insight into the Klingon psyche: it's in his nature to trust in the Empire, in something bigger that binds his people together, and to Worf that includes the  _Enterprise_  and her crew. And herself, it seems.

She takes him back to the sensor maintenance room, to bantering with Geordi. The moment he growls - actually growls, guttural - " _leave my mind,_ " she almost thinks he means her, until she brings him back up and his eyes focus on her, back in the present. He clears that low growl from his throat as he stands and says; 

"Thank you, Counselor."

She looks at him in surprise. In the surface of his mind is his anger and frustration at what's happened, but his appreciation that she can fight this battle where he can't. This time she doesn't quite restrain her smile. "You're welcome, Worf." She looks over at her next patient. "Beverly?"

*

Deanna tries to explain the sense she's been getting, tries to put into words how she's mistaken it and what she now thinks it is, but he can tell Picard doesn't really or fully understand. 

Even with the ready room so crowded, he can't help a private touch - not words, but a reassurance/apology/contrition that it's so hard to make non-telepaths, especially Humans, understand the subtlety of how her empathy works. He'd never have appreciated, if not for the bond between them, what it takes to interpret psychic input into a spoken language that has no real frame of reference for it. Even what she can show or tell him, he knows, is a paler image of the true depth of what she  _feels_  from everyone around them.

At least the sense he gets from her own mind is bright, vibrant, subtle with feeling, even just the quiet thanks for his support that ripples gently back into his head. Lapping over it he can feel her amusement at Data's Holmesian preoccupation and her concern for the ship, and – something that makes him fight down a smile – her faintly possessive worry for the minds around her, irritated that whatever this is, it's trespassing where she's in charge.

_Laid claim to us, have you?_

_Your minds are my responsibility._ _If whatever this is invades someone else..._

He can only imagine what she would do to something that came into his mind uninvited. Deanna is a force of nature when her family is threatened, and apparently that now includes the  _Enterprise_ crew, too.

_Let's hope it doesn't come to that, then._

*

It happens in a moment - the Captain standing near the helm, perfectly in focus, and then it's  _that_  feeling again - as if there are two of him occupying the same space and time and mind, and this time she's not going to blame her own senses just because she doesn't understand what they're telling her.

She fixes her gaze on him. He doesn't even seem to notice, and that only adds to her concern and certainty. 

 _Will,_ she thinks, even as Picard orders a reverse course and he stands, alarm ringing in his mind.

He doesn't look at her, but she doesn't need him to.  _Show me,_  without hesitation, and she gives him Jean-Luc Picard's mind as she's come to know it: calm, steady, silvery-white and the faintest of greens, the texture of tempered steel that can shift from cool and metallic to forge-hot. Over that she gives the sense she's been trying to put into words, that duality of mind even though both parts move exactly the same, like a holovid played over itself - and a new feeling, too, that shoots fear down her spine. If Picard's mind is usually an orderly, brightly lit space, now there's a corner with the lights down - not gone, but dark, deliberate and hidden…

Even telepathically, she can't articulate it well enough not to be frustrated. Will's gentling touch, still wordless, reminds her that he doesn't need to have all of it; he only has to trust that she does.

He turns back to Picard. "Sir, I'm puzzled by your reversing our course."

"That energy cloud, Commander. I believe it important we have another look at it." It's an easy answer, far too easy.

Will keeps his voice even, only a trace of the concern she can feel under the surface. "But we're behind schedule for Parliament already."

Picard hardly looks at him. "I believe a very important scientific discovery awaits us on this heading."

The tone of his voice, of his emotions, is something almost euphoric. She takes a breath and tries from the other angle, careful like they're hunting prey that could spook at any moment. "Perhaps you'd like to share your reasoning on that, sir."

She can feel Will's breath held in his chest, waiting - and then Data gives the Captain an out, albeit unintentionally, and when he looks to her even for just a second, it's the first time Jean-Luc Picard's eyes on her have ever made her uncomfortable. 

"Counselor." Not euphoric now: precise, almost wily. "Do you believe a ship captain should explain every order?"

She flashes a glance up at Will.  _Something's_ _very_ _wrong,_ even as out loud she only says, careful; "Of course not, sir."  _I need to talk to you. All of you, as soon as we can._

*

Beverly is all concern, reluctance to believe her but fear - deep and personal - of even the slim chance of her being right. Geordi's emotions, usually buoyant with gentle energy, are tinged sombre and worried. Data is still that blank space she's almost used to now, but she still imagines she can feel that faint, Vulcan-like logical disquiet in his voice.

"A mere change of direction hardly justifies mutiny."

Beverly takes a seat, leaning toward her. "Exactly what do you believe you're sensing from him?"

She can't explain it even to Will, with all his experience in empathy, so the words come out full of frustration despite her trying. "It's just a feeling that… well, that he's closed part of his mind to me." There's no way to put into words, in their language, just how Humans usually feel to her, and therefore just how wrong that dark space is when that shouldn't be something a Human mind can do. 

"I just feel that the Captain has become…" She looks at Will, pushing that sense at him again to try and get him to understand. "Perhaps dangerous."

Will's mind is a conflicted ball of worry: even if she can't explain well enough, he doesn't trust in this course change and he does trust her judgment implicitly, so something  _is_ wrong, but he doesn't know how to justify doing anything about it. But if they  _don't_ do anything… 

"If he's dangerous…" Will turns to look outside. She can feel his thoughts pushing ahead of them, thinking of the energy cloud they're heading for, for who knows what reason. " _If_."

"Then he'd have to be relieved of command." It's so Geordi to say what they're all thinking, as he looks at Beverly. The whole room can probably feel his open concern. "Which you could do, Doctor, but it's  _beaucoup_ trouble if you're wrong."

"And at the moment it is all pure speculation." Oh, she wishes Data could understand, but she can't fight his logic, either. "He has done nothing to subject the  _Enterprise_  to danger."

Beverly shakes her head. "I'd need a medical log citing clear evidence of incapacity." She looks up at Will. "You could do it without that problem."

She can feel Will's helplessness. "Only if all command officers agreed that it was vital to do so." He looks at her, desperate for something more concrete. "But he has not been showing any overt unusual behaviour."

She stands up, to look him in the eyes as she says it, because he needs to feel her certainty and she doesn't blame him. "Ultimately, I believe he will."

His expression would tell her how seriously he takes that, even if his mind didn't.  _Deanna, what am I supposed to_ do _?_

She feels Beverly's decisiveness reach breaking point even before the other woman stands up, turning to Will. "As second in command, it's still in your corner. I'll order medical and psychiatric exams." She may not show it, but Deanna knows it's that fear, the connection that runs years deep making her take action, even on the slightest chance that Jean-Luc Picard is in danger. It's what she would do if it were Will, and that at least gives her some reassurance: she wouldn't leave even the smallest thing to chance if he were in danger, and to feel that Beverly will do the same for the Captain makes her feel a little more hopeful they can fix whatever's wrong here before the worst happens.

And yet as fierce as Beverly is, she can't do it alone. "You'll have to back me up, somehow," she says, and Deanna feels Will's gaze pull on hers even before the door slides shut.

_How do I do that without committing a damn mutiny?_

She can't think of any way other than,  _Talk to him._

_That went well enough on the bridge._

_In private, then. If he's still Captain Picard, he'll understand. If he's not, then you're justified in questioning him._

He nods an admission to that - almost imperceptible, though she supposes if anyone else would notice, it would be Geordi or Data; but neither of them react to it, only acknowledge when Will squares his shoulders and says, "All of you head back up to the bridge, and be as discreet as you can. I'll be there shortly."

*

He runs Beverly down in the hallway before she even reaches the turbolift, cups his hand at her elbow and turns her around.

She looks at him as if she's surprised that he's come after her. Maybe she is: he still, sometimes, feels like he needs to prove himself to this lioness of a woman. He gives her an apologetic look and a tight smile. 

"I'm backing you up. Let's go talk to the Captain."

*

He tries not to twitch as Beverly angles her probe over him, but he's always found the sensation of having his body traced out in the air above him strangely disconcerting, and when she passes the probe over his head, he finally can't help it.

Of course Deanna notices, standing there with her arms lightly crossed a few steps from the biobed. She doesn't really try to hide her smile and he shoots her a glare. The smile turns into a smirk inside his head and he pushesback at her, resolutely straightening his back against the bed again.

"Are you sure it's not quicker to fake these exams?"

Beverly smiles faintly without pausing in her second pass over his head. "Just think of it as a head start on your annual physical."

He scowls up at her hand. "Hm." 

"And psychological review," Deanna says, helpfully. He says a particularly uncouth variant of a Cyndri curse in his head, deliberately loud and clear, and she laughs out loud.

Beverly glances round at her with a raised eyebrow; he watches, and feels, Deanna try to straighten her expression, but the smile still doesn't leave her eyes.

"What's so funny?"

Deanna's lips twitch. "Will really doesn't like psych reviews."

"I like  _your_  psych reviews," he grins, lascivious, just to see Beverly flush a delightful shade of pink and quickly turn back to the screen.

Deanna giggles in his head.  _You're incorrigible._

He chuckles back at her.  _It's just too easy._

"Hmm…" Beverly turns back to look at him with a frown creasing her forehead. "Stay there, I just need to get another probe."

He stares up at the ceiling as she disappears into the other room. "Sure, I’ll just stay here. Nothing else important to do. Not like the Captain's running around possessed by who-knows-what up there-"

"Will," Deanna says, gentling. He sighs and leans back again.

Beverly reappears and holds another hand probe – it looks exactly the same from where he's lying, but hey, he's not the medical professional – over his forehead. She turns back to the screen and her frown only deepens.

"This still isn't working." She shakes her head, turning completely to face him. "Sorry, Will. I think the system's malfunctioning - I'm getting a residual reading from Deanna's tests. I might have to reset the scanner..."

He looks at her past Beverly's shoulder; she's already looking at him, and their eyes have barely met before Deanna ducks her head and grins.

He grins the same grin and looks back at Beverly.

"How sensitive have you got that thing? Past level three?"

Beverly raises her eyebrows as if she's surprised he even knows the settings for a neural scanner. "Level three is standard sensitivity for a full physical. Why?"

Deanna rolls her eyes, but they're sparkling and he can feel her amusement. "Will, there's no need to show off."

_Au contraire, imzadi, I'll take any excuse._

Beverly looks between them both like they've gone mad. "'Show off'?"

Deanna gives him a long-suffering look and gestures at the screen. "May I?"

*

There's only really one way to try and explain this, and Deanna supposes they were going to have to, sooner or later. "May I?"

Beverly steps back, confusion giving way to curiosity. "Be my guest."

She touches the panel. "Computer, show me the most recent complete neural scan of Deanna Troi, and cross-reference with these results." 

Her own familiar readings appear above Will's and a moment later, both displays shift to make way for the requested cross-match showing them clearly overlaid.

If she didn't already know that Will is always with her, somewhere within her mind, there it is in vivid color. It's barely visible even at this level of detail, but Deanna knows what to look for: a tiny flicker of alpha waves at the very lowest levels, in rhythm, so subtle and sometimes matched so closely that only one line appears visible. The accompanying mix of theta and beta waves are even harder to spot, not always exactly in line or even always there, but when played together undeniably a matched set.

She watches Beverly's fingertip follow the line of one particular alpha wave, a minute but constant beat that repeats endlessly, and she can't help but lean into the hot-bronze feel of Will's mind and even though this isn't real time, she can imagine the way that beat would pick up, ever so slightly, in response.

Beverly's head snaps round to stare at her. "What  _is_  it?"

Will, for all his mischief, just looks at her with arched eyebrows and a giant grin. She knits her fingers together and glares at him, well aware that Beverly's eyes are on her.

"A… telepathic connection." She tries to think of the words when there aren't any. How do other Betazoids explain this to off-worlders? It was hard enough to explain to Will, in the beginning, and he was in the middle of it. 

Beverly's eyebrows almost reach her hairline, surprise like a sudden burst of light flashing from her mind. "Like a Vulcan bonding?" A smile curls onto her lips. "Wait a minute, are you two…?"

Will grins at her even more wickedly. She tries to glare at him, but it comes out as a fond smile. "Not exactly."

"We were." His grin fades into a smile to match hers. "It's not something you can turn off once it's there. Betazoids are hard to get over." 

"It's so subtle." Beverly looks back at the screen, isolating those lowest details with a tap of her fingers. "I've seen Vulcan bonds before, but this is…"

Deanna actually almost wants to blush at how intently Beverly's examining this. "Vulcan bonding is very linear, very controlled. With Betazoids, it's more like our minds become… tangled together, if you like."

"I'd have missed it completely if I hadn't just seen it in your scans too." Beverly looks at Will, surprise spiking through her again. "Wait a minute, there's no mention of this in your medical file-"

"I've had a pretty eventful medical record since I left Betazed." Will sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Try scrolling back to 'fifty-nine. You might find it there." 

"Or no one thought to note it." She shrugs at Beverly's look. "It would be a little like you recording that a Human patient is right-handed, or has pierced ears. It might have a medical implication someday, but a lot of Betazoid doctors wouldn't think to make particular note of something so normal."

"'Normal'," Beverly repeats, a touch of wonder in her voice, shaking her head. It's Deanna's word but it's Will she looks at. "Is this normal for you?"

Will sends a wash of emotion through the tangle of their minds: the pure satisfaction and happiness at being able to say it, so deep it warms her inside. "Totally normal." 

Beverly's mind is a whirl of inquisitive surprise/amazement. "Does Jean-Luc know?"

He shoots her a look and a mental nudge that's pure, unfettered amusement. "Curious, isn't she?"  

She grins, unable to help picking up his playfulness. "Mm-hmm."

"The right security exceptions are on file, if that's what you mean." He drops to his feet, and he's sobered again before they hit the floor. "If you think you have enough to give the Captain - or whatever that is on the bridge…?"

Beverly clears her throat. "Yes, of course."

*

_Will. You're pacing._

_I know._ He still doesn't stop until Geordi announces their arrival. Then the Captain is back on the bridge, and everything suddenly makes sense. That feeling of something  _else_ , of another being, shifting from one person to another; changing as it moved, growing in ability to hide, to influence, to control or combine...

"Captain." She moves to Will's side and her subconscious notices, as it always does, the strength that snaps into place when they stand together. "Do you exist in combination with this entity?"

Will finishes the thought for her. "Is it in control of you, sir?"

It's as if he doesn't even hear them. He - it, perhaps - just keeps talking, that mix of anger and wonder, a tone so very much not Jean-Luc Picard at all. Will glances to her: the impatience/alarm she can feel is so shared between them now it's neither his nor her own, and mixed with that of the rest of the crew, it's so potent that she can't help letting it show outwardly even as that tone still holds them all in something like a trance, listening with wonder and horror.

"Captain." It's Will who extracts himself from it first: she can feel the way he pulls himself under control, like a mental headshake, and moves toward Picard. "I must speak to you privately,  _now_."

She hears Data try and reason with him - with it - as if he's far away, hearing him only in the back of her mind because she can almost see into that dark space, now, there's  _almost -_

She takes the step back to Will's side, grasping his wrist, urgent. "He's planning to beam himself and the entity into that cloud."

Panic flares like a sudden brushfire through Will's thoughts. She can see the rough understanding of what Picard explains, the fear that it could actually work and the brighter terror that it won't, that the transporter isn't built to work that way and Picard will die trying with not even energy left.  _Has that thing driven him insane?!_

Then Beverly surges forward with a desperation Deanna can share almost too well, and everything turns to darkness and blinding blue light and sizzling pain.

*

It's been ten minutes and every muscle in his body still tingles like he's been shocked with a live wire, a tight ache settling in down to his bones. He knows Deanna's body feels the same, so he wouldn't be surprised to hear the rest of the ship are fighting it back too. He can still feel the bruising grip of Deanna's fingers as the light and pain just winked out like it was never there, and she stumbled against him and her panic shot through his head like an arrow.

_He's gone, Will, I can't feel him!_

*

Twenty minutes. His skin has stopped tingling, but he's got a headache to rival his graduation hangover. Deanna is motionless beside him and hasn't blinked for minutes: he suspects he's the only one who knows she's scanning for the Captain just as hard as everyone else on the bridge, and having just as little luck.

*

Will's hand resting gently on her arm pulls her back to the bridge. For a moment as she opens her eyes, everything is so sharp and bright that she winces and shuts them again, and his grip tightens just a little.

"Take a break." His voice is low, pitched just for her, and she's sure it's only spoken aloud because he must know how full her head is and how much it's hurting right now.

She shakes it, still, drawing in a breath in preparation to try again. "He's out there, Will, he  _has_ to be-"

"You've been at it for half an hour." He slides his hand down to squeeze her wrist, his fingers warm on her bare skin. "Just rest for a minute. You're no good to him if you burn yourself out."

She doesn't want to rest for even a second, but she knows - and hates - that he's right, so she leans into his mind instead and tries not to think at all.

It's five minutes before he gives another gentle squeeze, all hope and strength, and lets go, an implicit permission: she takes another deep breath and reaches out again. 

*

He has every science and engineering team awake, every analyst working, every department with a scanning device pointing it at the cloud: it's ironic that they'll end up with so much sensor data about the thing after all, when this is over.

It's been forty-five minutes and no one has found anything remotely resembling their hopes, and Will Riker is starting to feel something heavy settle on his shoulders that feels a lot like the weight of a starship.

*

An hour just feels like so little time.

He doesn't want to make this decision, but he can't find a way around it. Picard resigned, they've got a mission to complete and two warring planets to try and save, and he just can't wait any longer.

And then Deanna finds him his miracle.

"Commander? Wait!" It sounds odd to have her use his rank, but he knows why: that this is his ship now, at least for now, and Deanna will always be the one to set the example for everyone else. "It's the Captain," and as professional as she is, there's open distress in her voice. "But  _only_  the Captain - he's out there, alone."

He leans toward her mind, a silent request to share what she's feeling. "The entity. Has it abandoned him?"

"No…" He can feel her try to frame it in some way he'll understand. "But the combination wasn't possible out there." She moves toward him, reaches to his mind in return. "He's in trouble, sir, we have to beam him back!"

He'd share her urgency even if she wasn't feeding it directly into his thoughts, but he feels helpless to act on it - and thank God for this crew, for Data's logical thinking and Geordi's instant reaction, so that he's not helpless after all.

They move in close and he almost finds himself crossing his fingers as he watches Geordi's glide across the panel, co-ordinating every sensor on the ship. He can feel Deanna, too, her mind open and listening, the brush of her searching thoughts like the beam of a lighthouse passing over his mind. They just need Picard to be as in sync as the rest of the crew, to realise what they'd doing…

A hopeful thought hits him; he looks back at her. "Troi, is there any way you can get a message to him?"

But Deanna shakes her head. She's so open to them all right now, just to try and listen; he can hear the anguish of the whole bridge in her voice. “I wish I could."

Damn it, they're so  _close_ , they can't lose him now -

It's like hearing a sensor ping from across the room: Deanna's hope threads through his mind even as Worf's panel goes haywire, and it's a different kind of urgency she presses into his thoughts now, the sense of something silvery-white and not quite solid. "There's something here. I feel it." 

It goes to Worf, then to Geordi, and then he's looking at her, hope of his own rising up. "P for Picard?"

_He's here, Will, I'm sure of it._

He follows Data off the bridge without hesitation, and he doesn't have to ask her to come with him.

*

Picard drops everything in Will's lap with a simple, "Take charge, Number One," and Will looks so dumbfounded for a moment that she has to fight not to laugh, even given the situation.

He shakes himself, looks at her; he's not amused, especially at her reaction, but she still can't quite keep the smile from her lips or the laughter from her eyes.  _Remember, you're the one who-_

He winces, at least in his head.  _Chose Starfleet._ _I know._

She's still smiling even as she takes pity on him, sends a thread of sympathy into his mind.  _Why don't you take the Anticans, and I'll take the Selay?_

Will's sudden relief is so strong she thinks he'd actually kiss her if they were alone right now. 

*

Their orbit around Parliament is geosynchronous, over the equatorial capital, so the view from Ten Forward is half pale blue planet and half sparkling starscape dotted with the occasional space traffic passing through their plane of orbit. It's beautiful, and Deanna's been staring out at it for a long time when she feels a familiar mind approaching her table.

She looks up and smiles. "How is the Captain?"

"Good as new. Almost literally." Beverly slides into the other chair with a tall glass of tea in hand, a PADD tucked under her elbow. "How did you know that's where I've been?"

She smiles. "Lucky guess." But it's obvious Beverly isn't here to update her on that. "What can I do for you?"

"Am I that obvious?"

Deanna laughs softly. "I am an empath." That sparks against Beverly's emotions, and she leans back, crossing her knees. "What is it?"

Beverly puts the PADD on the table between them. "I was updating your medical records with yesterday’s tests, and..." She tabs something, as if she's checking before she actually speaks; after a moment she looks back at Deanna and turns the PADD toward her. "You're listed as Commander Riker's next of kin."

"Ah." Suddenly that mix of hesitation and curiosity makes sense. She leans over and pulls the PADD toward her - and yes, it's still the same record as she remembers, her biometric prints for Starfleet's benefit and her signature in Cyndrit as required by Betazed law. "I haven’t thought about that for years. I imagine Will hasn't, either." She offers Beverly a smile. "Did you think it was another glitch in your systems?"

Beverly replies with a half-shrug. "Well, after today…"

"Mm, point taken." She turns the PADD back to face Beverly. "But, no, your records are perfectly in order." 

“I thought they might be.” Beverly clears her throat. "It's slightly unusual for a friend to be listed as next of kin, but given what you explained about being…"

It doesn't take empathy to realise she doesn't know what to call it. Will would probably take the opportunity to tease her, but Deanna just smiles. "Bonded?" Standard lacks for too many layers of feeling, too many nuances to really name it in any way that does justice, so she doesn't make an effort to try.

"Yes." She can feel Beverly's relief at escaping any more teasing. "It's in his records that his mother died, but his father-" 

"Will hasn't spoken to his father since before we met." She reaches for her glass. "When that entry was made, he considered himself more part of my family than his own. So did I."

Beverly's voice is soft, and suddenly more knowing than Deanna's given her credit for until now. "And now?"

She blinks, surprised at herself as much as that gentle, insightful question. She meant it when she said she imagines Will hasn't thought, but even if he did, there's hardly anyone else except his father, at least that she knows of - and there are one night stands Will would probably choose to list over Kyle Riker. Yet Beverly's right - even now no one on Betazed would question it, but she can see how Starfleet would see it as slightly odd when there's nothing official to connect them and he still has at least one living blood relative.

And still when she thinks honestly about it, she can't imagine a galaxy in which Will wants anyone but her to be the one, even if they were years and light-years apart, who gets that first midnight call. She can't imagine she would ever not want to be that person.

They're still each other's family, and always will be. Now that family is just bigger. 

She smiles over at Beverly. "Nothing's changed."

**

**Author's Note:**

> I know we don't see Ten Forward until season two, but in theory it has to still have been there from the beginning. I imagine it as a little less of a success as a social hub than it should be, which is why they bring Guinan in and we suddenly see people start to use it. 
> 
> Also, yes, I named the nurse after Phillipa Georgiou. It seemed appropriate timing.


End file.
